best day of his life
by gustin puckerman
Summary: ONE-SHOT. The asked him what had kept him alive. Post 2x22. Flashback scenes. Ward-centric & every Ward's relationship.


**Disclaimer**: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).  
**Pairings**: Mostly Ward-centric. Every relationship [with Ward] is considered.  
**Word(s)**: 1,467 words.  
**Summary**: They asked him what had kept him alive.

**Note**: I don't know, man.

**Musical Inspiration**: "_Best Day of My Life_" by American Authors.

* * *

**best day of his life**

* * *

Sweat rolled down the side of his face when he turned, and Fitz was pushing him.

Skye was following behind, and the wind brushed over making her bite onto her own strands of her hair, only for her to throw her head back under the sunlight and laughed when Simmons stumbled next to her ― hair loose, bare shoulders a little tinted with pink ― giving the boys a shy smile as she did.

The weather was nice that day, he thought.

Still, this was a bad idea somewhat. Ward's sure of it.

They took motorbikes and Skye had challenged him into a race, and his initial thought of how this was a bad idea began to slip through his knowledge when she hopped onto one of the two motorbikes FitzSimmons managed to rent and her tongue stuck out playfully to him. He stared at her, unfazed, still not budging from his spot when she gripped hard on Fitz' wrist, claiming the engineer to be on her team.

They told him he's about to have the best day of his life.

_So, live a little you twat_, Skye had grinned, taking hold of Fitz' arms and securing it around her waist, looking over her shoulder to the beaming Scot, already excited to spend the whole day outside the Bus with no mission to be solved. _How about that? Fitz taught me that. I used it correctly, didn't I? Yeah I did._ She asked, and the engineer went on to say yes, nodded his head, before exclaiming when will she move.

Simmons was already excited to see the ocean.

Ward glanced over to the young doctor, see the giddiness brightening up her pale cheeks, and rolled his eyes. _But, we are **not** racing_, he greeted his teeth, pointedly looking at the hacker, who just high-fived the engineer in respond.

Simmons gingerly crossed over to him and took her place behind. _Shit_, he said, when Skye yelled sayonara over her head and went passed them in a speed he wouldn't recommend with Fitz laughing and prodding her to go faster ― _c'mon, he's going to catch up!_

_Hold on_, he said to the young doctor, his face beating red under the gleaming sun, even redder now when he more-than-once realised how his orders had been neglected, which, he thought a few moments after, wasn't supposed to be a surprise any longer. Simmons shrieked when he moved, quick and abrupt, but it was not out of fear he realised, when a second later he could feel her beaming behind his back, laughing quietly when the wind rushed against them.

Spotting both Fitz and Skye a few metres ahead, he couldn't help but to smile back.

They moved faster, and Simmons actually gripped a hold of his shirt, tugging it with slow murmur to drive quicker. He did. Fitz, finally realising he was catching up, panicked, and alerted Skye. Ward grinned.

_You mess with the wrong people_, he yelled when he's just a distance away, and this time he's sure Simmons was laughing, one hand reaching out to Fitz as though she could link their hands together. Fitz reached back, if only to amuse them. Skye snorted, but her smirk didn't vanish.

_We'll see about that_, she finalised.

She lost, and the engineer had pouted to the point Ward wasn't sure a grown man could, until Simmons bubbly mentioned the ocean and they began babbling about something that Ward couldn't comprehend. He followed them behind though, because it was good listening to them listing out all the things that were magnificent and glorious of the sea, stuff that he didn't knew; it felt as though if he tried hard enough, he could see the world the way they see it. Of all the strangest details and facts and still found it fascinating to love it. Sometimes, Ward knew, sometimes he could.

Skye wanted to steal a boat for Simmons, but failed, and Ward ended up treating all of them popsicles and Fitz kept asking him if his tongue was green yet. Ward didn't entertain him, but shared the popsicles with the young engineer when they realised he didn't get one himself.

Reluctantly still, he thought Fitz chose the correct flavour.

They taught Simmons how to ride a motorbike, well _she_ insisted, and fell more than once. He was annoyed, Fitz was constantly worried, and Skye was encouraging. It was, he decided, one of the best moment he's had.

_Monte Carlo is very nice, isn't it?_ Simmons murmured when they were to return back to the hotel, her cheek one again pressing against his back, but this time she claimed, only because she didn't want to sunburn as Fitz did. Skye was still chastising him by their side, flicking her finger against Fitz's reddening cheeks, causing the other man to yelp in pain. Ward was tempted to laugh.

_Better than I expected_, he said, when Fitz pinched Skye, causing him to fell off the bike after Skye gasped, later shoving him off. This time, he did allow himself to smile.

They switched places ― Fitz rode with him, and Simmons went on to Skye; the hacker still glared at the engineer as they drove, and Ward let out a chuckle.

Fitz turned out to be good at gambling, until he lost to May. Which was one of the best expression he wished he'd have recorded ― Skye told him she could extract it from the CCTV, and Ward added his list of things he owed her. Simmons patted the Scot, but secretly cheered for May. Phil seemed satisfied, his eyes were gleaming, his muscles relaxed.

May hid a smile, and Ward knew most of it was because of Phil.

They didn't end up drinking until they were blind, although that was the initial plan (of _Skye_, of course) because May ended up sneaking them up to the roof while they stared at the sky, and Ward considered the stars because he never really did that before, not since the days he was dumped in the forest, left to rot to his death or fight for his life, and this was nice. This _was_ better.

Skye fell asleep on his shoulder.

Fitz fell asleep on his laps.

He thought of how this was very appropriate, while he saw Phil grinned in the background and Skye began to let out a single drip of her saliva.

Simmons chuckled, tipsy, when she moved closer, dragging her knees up to her chin while her eyes fell over to her best friend, and co-worker. She said she's sorry this happened, in a hush whisper, although Ward doubted her natural tone could wake them up. He waved her off, declaring it wasn't her fault, because it really wasn't, while Fitz began to snore.

He hid his groan.

May, with Phil, may have smirked.

_I'll carry Skye if you carry Fitz_, she offered, and he took it. And in drunken state, while dragging both of their bodies back to their respective hotel rooms, Fitz had slurred out, through his sleep, on how Ward should admit this _was_ the best day of his life.

And Ward remembered this moment, this exact moment, this whole day, when his wrist was bruised and stained with the cuff that held him in place; when his mouth tasted dry and bitter for not speaking for too long; when his body shook and trembled in coldness which they, sometimes, purposely put him in; he remembered this day.

As bright as the sun, as clear as the blood rushing still in his veins.

Because when they asked him what had kept him alive, kept him _breathing_, it was that day. It was those little details on burnt freckles across Fitz's face, the sneaky glances when May played her cards, the steady calmness when Phil asked if they spent their day okay, the honest cheerfulness brimming off from Simmons' chatter, and the relief smiles Skye gave away when she turned back and realised none of them had left her.

Because even though he didn't answer then, he knew deep stabbed into his core, it was, without a doubt, the best day of his life.

And he'll live it everyday if his mind could just travel back to that day.

Over and over and over and over again.

To just keep pretending (because he was always someone else, wasn't he? Everyday, every second, every-freaking-hour, whether he wanted to or not) ― but that one day, _one_ day, every glower, every reply, every snort, every smiles, he wasn't (_wasn't_) pretending.

(He closed his eyes, and breathed.)


End file.
